


Winter Never Comes

by parcequelle



Category: Holby City
Genre: Elinor Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9297308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: A night by a bedside; the hope of the dawn. (Hurt/comfort snapshots during Elinor's recovery.)





	1. Chapter 1

**19:10**

The sound of her phone vibrating makes Bernie jump, but she dives for it, manages to grab it and shut it up before it can wake Serena. A text. It reads:

_Heard from Cam that Serena’s daughter’s in a bad way. All the best._

It's from _Marcus_. She stares at it, disbelieving, checks and double-checks the number and name for confirmation. It takes her twenty minutes, but she finally manages to text back: _Thanks_. Life's too short for unnecessary pettiness.

*

**20:31**

A buzz.

_Any change?_

Cameron. She bites her lip.

 _Not yet. Keep praying._ Then: _I love you._

_I love you too._

*

**21:12**

The phone rings. She picks up but when she says her name, no sound comes out.

‘Hi, Mum, can you talk?’

Charlotte, succinct as ever. Bernie looks over to where Serena has finally dozed off in her chair, takes another perfunctory look at Elinor's stats, and decides. ‘Yes,’ she murmurs. ‘Just a minute.’

She slips out of the room but stays behind the glass where she can see Serena, where she can hang up and go back in if she starts to stir. If anything changes.

‘Hi,’ she says, on a breath.

‘Cam told me about Elinor,’ Charlotte says. ‘I’m … I’m so sorry. Serena must be beside herself.’

‘She is,’ Bernie says softly.

‘At least she's got you,’ she says, and it makes Bernie smile, a little, for the first time in days.

‘You must be snowed under with everything going on, but I...’ she trails off, and Bernie frowns; it isn't like Charlotte to be so vague. She might take a while to start speaking, but when she does, she always knows what she wants to say.

‘What is it?’

‘It's ... I hope I'm doing the right thing,’ she says.

Bernie's heart starts to pound, but her voice is measured when she says, ‘Out with it.’

‘I didn't want to bring this up because I ... well, it doesn't matter. But when Cam told me about Elinor it occurred to me that this might be important, and…’ she takes an audible breath and says, ‘Mum. Elinor's a user.'

If her heart had been pounding before, she now feels like it’s stopped completely. ‘What?’

‘I think it’s coke. You might not have noticed because she drinks a lot of coffee and she hides it well and ... I know Christmas wasn’t exactly a bundle of laughs.'

'You can say that again,' Bernie says, faintly.

'But she was high. On Christmas Day. I noticed because I have a friend who ... anyway, doesn’t matter. I didn't want to stir up trouble so I didn't say anything. Elinor wasn’t exactly fond of me as it was. But it’s true.’ She lets out a breath. ‘Is that ... is that important?’

‘Charlotte,’ Bernie says, and feels hope stir inside her for the first time since she first read Elinor’s scans, ‘it is so important you might have just saved her life. _Thank you_.’

‘Okay,’ she says in a rush. ‘Okay. Go do your thing, Mum. All the best to Serena.’

‘Thank you,’ Bernie says again. ‘I love you, Charlotte.’

‘I ... you too, Mum.’

She’s already halfway into the room, bellowing orders at the ITU nurse, not even caring if she wakes Serena up now because there’s hope, there’s _hope_ , and that she can work with.

*

**22:32**

Serena sits at Elinor's beside, limp right hand held in her own, and feels a twitch. Bursts into tears. Bernie waits until Serena is occupied with the neuro specialist, bellowing orders of her own, and then slips into the bathroom. Cries out of relief, out of pain, out of fury at Elinor Campbell’s stupid, selfish, senselessly life-threatening behaviour. Then she washes her face and goes to find Jasmine Burrows.

*

**23:09**

‘If you leave now,’ Bernie tells her, quiet and dangerous, ‘then you might just make it out alive.’

She doesn't protest.

*

**01:10**

Serena doesn't like the on-call neurosurgeon; thinks he’s incompetent. Bernie thinks he has untrustworthy eyebrows which just about amounts to the same thing. Calls Guy Self. Is astonished when he picks up, sounding wide awake.

‘Mr Self?’ she says. ‘It's Bernie Wolfe from Holby City.’

‘Bernie!’ he exclaims. ‘What a surprise! How are you?’

Eyebrows creasing, Bernie glances down to check a name and number for the second time in six hours and has to concede, for the second time in six hours, that it seems to be accurate. ‘I'm in a bit of pickle, actually, and was wondering if you'd be able to give some advice. I ... hope I'm not calling at a bad time?’

‘Not at all,’ he says. ‘I'm in Las Palmas!’

‘Right,’ Bernie says. ‘Good timing, then.’ She explains the problem, explains what's at stake. ‘Imagine it were Zosia,’ she says. She isn’t afraid to play dirty for the sake of Serena Campbell’s only child.

‘I don't have to,’ he says, in as gentle a voice as she's ever heard him use. ‘Children are one exception to the bastard rule.’

That surprises a laugh out of her and he says, ‘I couldn't get back there in time to be of much use, but listen. I’ve got an idea. Do you have a pen?’

*

**03:40**

In the on-call room, Serena sits slumped against Bernie, boneless. She can barely speak; Bernie strokes a mindless, comforting hand down her arm and listens to her breathing even out. Just when she thinks she might finally have drifted off, Serena says, ‘You know what I think?’

‘What's that?’

‘That Edward knew. I think he knew and he...’ she can't finish the sentence.

Bernie squeezes her tighter and says, ‘It's all right, darling. It's all right. It'll all come out in the end.’

(It does, and when it does, Serena's there. Bernie's there, too. The best part is when Liberty turns on him, throws her hideous handbag at him and _screams_. For a brief, terrifying moment, Bernie almost likes her.)

*

**06:10**

Morven comes up from AAU and brings them tea, endless cups of tea. There is a haunted look in her eyes, that painful, guilt-inducing blend of envy and relief that comes when someone who isn't your own someone survives.

Bernie pulls her aside and hugs her, and Morven shakes and cries into her shoulder, just for a moment. Then she pulls away and says, ‘Right, best get back,’ and Bernie loves her like she’s one of her own.

*

**09:23**

Temporary amnesia; she's lost the last three days. She remembers her name and her birthday, after a moment of scratching around; remembers Christmas. Asks what happened. The doctor tells her to rest; she struggles; they sedate her.

*

**11:40**

It’s better, this time; she’s calmer.

They’ve started administering the medication Guy recommended and already her pupils are clearing up. She’s still fuzzy, though, and they all agree not to confront her about the drug use until she’s stronger. Tell her only that she had an accident. She doesn’t remember.

Perhaps she will, sometime, or perhaps she’s protecting herself and it will all remain buried forever. Perhaps it’s for the best.

*

**13:11**

‘Oh, God,’ Elinor says, her eyes filling with tears when they finally tell her that they know. The drugs have calmed her, but they don’t stop her from feeling. ‘Oh, God, I've ruined everything.’

‘No,’ Serena says. ‘You haven’t. You’re alive. Nothing’s ruined as long as you’re alive.’

Her tears are falling freely, and Bernie is shocked when Elinor turns to her, grips her hand. ‘I'm sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry I was so awful to you.’

‘It doesn't matter, Elinor.’

‘It does,’ she says, urgent. ‘Say you forgive me.’

She sounds so childlike and strange that it takes Bernie a moment to understand her, to form a response. ‘I forgive you,’ she says. ‘I'm so glad you're all right, Elinor.’

‘I'm not all right,’ Elinor sobs, a sudden break. ‘I'm not, I'm not.’

‘Then you will be,’ Bernie murmurs. ‘You will be.’

Serena leans over and hugs her daughter, face buried in her neck, and they both cry. Bernie stands beside them, rigid and exhausted, trying not to do the same. Elinor never once lets go of her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops! It grew!

Serena takes it hard, the news about Elinor’s drug use. She holds it together for as long as she’s still at her bedside, afraid to leave in case her vitals dip into the red again, but when their tears have subsided and Elinor is sleeping – knocked out for at least twelve hours, the neuro chap says, if not more – Bernie finally coaxes Serena out of ITU, down to AAU and into her coat. She doesn’t even make it to the car before she bursts into tears again; it’s the sight of all the flowers that does it. She’s barely been back to AAU since Elinor’s collapse, and seeing the place covered in get-well-soon cards and sympathy bouquets is just a little more than she can bear.

Fortunately, Morven is the only one in earshot, and she has the grace to give Bernie a tired smile and a nod, to disappear for as long as it takes them to get to the lift. Serena is a dull weight against her as Bernie’s arm holds her up; it’s all she can do to move her legs, it seems. Adrenaline crashing; exhaustion heaping; relief swimming with anger swimming with terror at what might have been, what so nearly was. (Bernie has yet to tell her about what Jasmine has done, what Jasmine has hidden; isn’t sure if she can, if she ought. If Jasmine, for all her faults, deserves the burden of Serena’s fury on top of that of her own remorse. Bernie hasn’t any idea what she’s going to do with the kid – feels guilty, now, a few hours later, for having sent her away like she did. She’ll have to do something, have to address it, somehow, but she can’t think about it right now. Doesn’t.)

It’s a struggle for Bernie to find the balance between helping Serena into the car like a loving, chivalrous partner and treating her like a child, but she manages; when she reaches over to snap on the seatbelt for her, Serena flickers a faint smile in her direction and pats her hand.

She collapses once they’re back in the door; once they’re home. ‘Tea or Shiraz?’ Bernie asks, and when Serena doesn’t answer, just brings both and tea for herself. Hangs up their coats and hats and gloves and leads her over to the sofa, presses her into it when she just stands there, gaze lost.

She gives her the tea, decides it’s safer. She’s still in shock.

‘I can’t…’ Serena starts, and then stops again. Bernie waits. She leans down to slip Serena’s shoes off, draws a blanket over their knees. The radiators are set to a timer and they’ve both been out all day – two days, now, or is it three? Bernie honestly has no idea – so the house is still cool, and though the blanket offers little by way of warmth, it’s a gesture of comfort nonetheless.

It’s lucky, Bernie thinks, that Serena knows her so well, because she’d have no idea what to say were she expected to speak right now. ‘I’m glad she’s alive,’ she’d probably fumble, or, ‘Lucky we found out in time.’ Something inane and tiny, far too tiny to encompass the depth of emotion involved in coming so very close to losing a child. Somewhere out there, Bernie knows, there exists a universe in which Elinor didn’t survive; in which another version of Bernie is sitting here, now, facing the near-impossible task of trying to comfort a broken, grieving mother. The thought makes her stomach drop, her heart clench, and she is selfish enough to be glad that she isn’t that woman. That that Serena isn’t her own.

‘Why...’ Serena asks, her voice cracking. She shakes her head. The teacup has been poised at her lips for over a minute, but she has yet to drink. ‘I can’t… I don’t understand.’

Bernie tangles the fingers of their free hands together and murmurs, ‘Have a sip.’

Serena does. Autopilot. ‘How could she…’ her voice breaks and she coughs. ‘And when we were… Christmas… Bernie, why didn’t I _notice_?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bernie says, instead of, _I didn’t notice either_ , instead of, _She didn’t want to be noticed_ , instead of, _You couldn’t have known_ or _She hid it well._

‘How could… what did I… what did I do wrong, do you think? Specifically? What was it?’

‘Serena,’ Bernie says, gently. She squeezes her hand beneath the blanket. ‘This isn’t your fault.’

She doesn’t hear her. ‘If I’d been more open about my love for her, perhaps, my… if I’d praised her more, or… if I hadn’t expected so much of her…’ 

Bernie wants to say, _She made her own choices_. She wants to say, _She’s a stupid, spoiled brat who takes after her git of a father and you deserve better_. What she says is, ‘She’s alive. She’s alive, Serena.’

It’s the first time Serena has looked at her since they got home, these words the first to have truly caught her attention. Bernie says them again and again until Serena nods, comprehending. ‘She’s alive,’ she echoes, eventually.

‘Everything else will come in time,’ Bernie says. She knows it’s meaningless, platitudinous, but she needs Serena to focus on the true wonder of this situation: that her daughter survived at all; that she has, against all odds, the opportunity to recover, to live a full and healthy life. That drug use – drug addiction, even; Bernie doesn’t yet know – is a broken leg compared to death. Something that damages, that debilitates, but that with time and effort will usually heal. ‘She’ll be all right. She’s alive.’ Bernie moves Serena’s half-full, lukewarm mug of tea to stand beside her own and draws her into her arms, holds her close. ‘She’s alive,’ she says. ‘Just focus on that, and we’ll get through this.’


End file.
